


What Isn't Taught

by squeequeg



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Alexander
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeequeg/pseuds/squeequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fine, Eilonwy thought.  I've had enough of learning what Teleria's teaching.  Time to learn everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Isn't Taught

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orichalcum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orichalcum/gifts).



After five months in Dinas Rhydnant, Eilonwy daughter of Angharad daughter of Regat of the royal house of Llyr had learned, willingly or no, how to braid her hair so that a gold circlet would sit perfectly on it; how to descend a staircase in trailing skirts; six ways to pull a needle through the same linen square; and the proper seating arrangement for a banquet depending on who would be in attendance. 

More importantly, she had learned that while Teleria daughter of Tannwen might not bother to remember where Caer Dallben was she had an ironclad memory when it came to royal lineages; that Prince Rhun was not objectionable company but did give her the urge to kick things, particularly him; that half of the cantrev lords found it amusing when Gormant son of Ricca pretended not to recognize her without her circlet and the other half stayed silent; and that court gossip inexplicably preferred topics of weddings, babies, and who was most likely to attract the ransomers' eye this summer to the much more interesting subjects of raiders on the eastern coast and shipboard battles.

Most important of all, she had learned that the ornamental plaster around her windowsill was not set so that it could support a person's weight.

"I can't understand it," Queen Teleria said.  "After all you went through the last time you left the castle -- straighten up, child, and do stop fussing with the bedclothes -- I cannot comprehend why on earth you would wish to slip out again.  And out the window!"

"The front door's always open, you know," King Rhuddlum added, eyeing the broken plaster curiously.  "And more convenient."

Eilonwy sniffed, hoping to indicate a fine disdain for her predicament.  It had been a good plan, at least in theory; she'd have been gone for only a day, long enough for her to finally ride out and see a little more of Mona on her own, even if it wasn't quite enough time for a real adventure.  "Honestly, you'd think no one had ever climbed out a window here before."

"They haven't," Teleria snapped.  "And I'd rather we not have a second attempt.  You are to stay in bed, Princess -- don't scowl so, it makes your brows beetle -- for at least another day, and that's an end to it."  She swept out, pretending not to hear Eilonwy's cry of dismay, and Rhuddlum followed with a quick glance back. 

Prince Rhun, who'd waited at the door, gave her an apologetic shrug.  "Father does have a point," Rhun mused.  "After all, you're much less likely to turn your ankle on the steps by the front door than on the little loose stones outside your window."

Eilonwy glared at him, but he only returned that same guileless smile.  Briefly, she considered hurling a pillow at his head, but Rhun was not the sort of person who would make pillow-chucking particularly satisfying.  He'd probably catch it and replace it on the bed, rather than throwing it back at her and escalating it into a truly worthwhile fight.  Instead, she turned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.  "I can walk," she insisted.  "There's no reason to keep me cooped up like this."

"Actually, the healer said that you're not supposed to put weight on it --"  Rhun began, then sighed and took her arm.  "You didn't _have_ to go out the window."

"That's not the point," Eilonwy replied, tilting her chin up.  The point, as she saw it, was not simply to get away for a little but to do so as herself, to reclaim that part of her that had been stifled in this feather-damp palace.  True, it wouldn't be as much of a lark without some proper traveling companions, but she was sure she could have managed something.  At least it'd be more interesting than yet another lesson in proper deportment and protocol.

Rhun brought her as far as the queen's solar, then fled, leaving her with Celemon, one of Teleria's ladies who was only too happy to have the company.  Celemon daughter of Olwen was a small, round woman with gray hair pinned back under a wimple and a needle always to hand.  And, as Eilonwy remembered with a mental groan and Celemon began to chatter, an ever-ready tongue.  Reluctantly, she took out her own embroidery and stabbed at it, letting the murmur of Celemon's commentary on the rest of the world go unheard.

_So this is what it is to be a princess_, she thought sourly.  Poorly-plastered windowsills, healers' orders, and gossip.  And embroidery.  No adventures.

For a shameful moment, she remembered her other choice, lost at Caer Colur, with envy.  But she had given up all hope of becoming an enchantress, and this was all that was left to her now.  This, and Caer Dallben, if they would only call her home soon.  Her hands stilled on the linen, needle stuck halfway through.  The harvest would be in by now -- she could almost see Gurgi stumbling to the barn with a basket of apples nearly as big as he was -- and Coll would be storing away his turnips for the winter, and Hen Wen happily settling in for the lengthening evenings . . .

"Up the apple tree again, dear?" Celemon said.

Eilonwy started.  "What?"

"Up the apple tree.  It's a saying my husband had, for when I was daydreaming."  She smiled at Eilonwy and patted her hand.  "You've been spending a lot of time up the apple tree lately."

Her cheeks flamed, and she looked down at the square of cloth in her hands.  "How would you know?" she muttered.

"I watch," Celemon said, turning her own embroidery over to pick out a stitch.  "You'd be surprised what you can learn just from watching.  Not near as much fun as running and finding out, I suspect, but you're less likely to get hurt this way."  Eilonwy shifted her aching ankle, and Celemon glanced at it.  "Is that how you hurt your foot, dear?"

"Maybe," Eilonwy said ungraciously.  "At least I was trying something.  And how can you learn anything like this?  You've been sitting here talking to me all morning!"

Celemon glanced at the other women in the solar -- a gaggle of the younger ladies whispering together, Teleria's chief housemaid discussing something with the haughtiest of the court ladies, and one of the under-stewards at the door, carrying a small copper-bound chest under his arm.  "Very well.  Watch: Essyllt will reject the dyes proposed for the banner she's working on, but the girls will claim them before Sinnoch leaves.  And the queen's maid will wait until all that's done before chastising Essyllt."

Eilonwy glanced at the older woman, but her face was as open and guileless as Rhun's.  As she watched, the under-steward, a lanky, graying man who walked with a bad limp, presented the chest to the two women -- and as Celemon predicted, the grand lady dismissed it with a wave while the handmaid pressed her lips together and glared at her.  The youngest of the girls looked up, whispered to her friends, then skipped a few steps to catch up with the under-steward.  After a moment's conversation, he handed her the chest.  To Eilonwy's surprise, though, he then glanced over at them, smiled hesitantly at Celemon, and managed an awkward bow, fumbling a little with his crutch.  The grand lady rolled her eyes at that, but as soon as he'd departed, though, the handmaid turned to her and began speaking in a low, angry voice.

"How --"  She glanced at Celemon, who though a blush pinked her cheeks had returned to her sewing.  "How did you know that?"

"Oh, it's just knowing the people involved, dear.  The girls are preparing for the eldest's wedding, and they're not so rich that they'll turn down the chance at well-made dyes, even if they are secondhand from Essyllt.  Teleria's handmaids value propriety, so they don't argue in front of the stewards, but they won't have anyone speak ill of them.  Not after what Magg put them through, particularly poor Sinnoch."  She paused at that, as if remembering Eilonwy's involvement in Magg's abrupt departure, but Eilonwy nodded for her to go on.  "And Essyllt has gotten very concerned about her status since being kidnapped by Annan Sword-Fence last summer.  Twice."

"Kidnapped?"  Eilonwy's eyes widened.  "Why didn't I hear anything about this?"  Raiders, yes, and the influx of fisherfolk into the city since the firing of several towns in the south, but this was something new.

"Oh, it's routine, dear.  Annan's a ransomer; he'll abduct a noblewoman or two every summer, then return them to their families for a good sum.  But he's an honorable one; they say once a woman's aboard his ship he lays his sword down between her and his crew and forbids anyone to cross that line.  You can ask Essyllt about it -- or, come to think of it, there are nicer people to ask.  But the point is; Essyllt was kidnapped because her husband is the richest cantrev lord on Mona, barring Gormant son of Ricca."

"You've learned all this just from sitting here sewing?"

"Well, yes."  She cocked her head to the side.  "You didn't know?  I thought, since you'd been here this long . . ."

Heat sparked over Eilonwy's cheeks, and she bent over her mangled embroidery again.  "Why doesn't the king do something about Annan, if he does this every summer?"

Celemon smiled.  "Perhaps you could tell me, Princess.  Hm?  See if you can find out."

***

The next day, it turned out the healers had been right in some small regard, for her ankle had swelled up to the point where putting weight on it was really too much to bear.  Rhun had left on another of his increasingly frequent journeys around the island, and Teleria (after hearing from Essyllt that Eilonwy had made it to the solar the day before) made a point of leaving a servant to keep an eye on her.

However, the servant was not her only visitor.  To her surprise, the limping under-steward of the day before arrived at midday.  "Princess," he said with an off-center bow.  "I am Sinnoch son of Seithfed, under-steward to their majesties.  The lady Celemon heard that you were confined to your room and came to see me." He made another bow, as if to the absent Celemon, knocking his crutch so it squeaked across the flagstones.  "She said that you must be horribly bored, and that I ought to bring you something from our records.  I hope this will do."  He held out a dusty gray tome, across which was written _The Laws and Directions of the Island of Mona_. 

Eilonwy's hopes of a distraction faded as she read the title.  "Oh.  Thank you."

"I'm afraid it was this or the roster of current tariffs," Sinnoch said with an apologetic smile.  "My lady Celemon," that little bow again, "has perhaps an inflated idea of my sphere of influence.  But," he added hastily, "I'm sure she had a reason for sending this to you."  He bowed again -- the constant off-center bobbing was starting to make Eilonwy seasick -- and departed. 

She ran her hands over the cover of the book.  No lesson there either.  Nothing to hunt down, or run and find out . . . nothing for her to do, except be the inadequate princess that Teleria saw her as.  _Sometimes_, she thought, _it seems that all the learning I've ever had, I had to discover on my own.  Like magic -- what little of that I ever knew, I only found out from listening behind the door when Achren was practicing._

She remembered those long hours spent trying not to breathe and give away her presence, listening to the raspy echo of magic and the way Achren's voice turned harsh when she spoke the words, like a knife left in the snow until its cold cut more than its edge.  Strange, how the memory didn't jar against her garbled impressions of Caer Colur, but instead conjured up the endless halls and passages of Spiral Castle, the child she'd been running through them until they were etched into her mind.  She glanced around at the wide, warmly-lit room and its cheery tapestries and sighed.  _It wasn't just magic.  Swordplay, I had to talk Taran into teaching me and then wheedle more lessons out of Coll.  Even taking care of the chores at Caer Dallben -- I wasn't taught those, I just learned from watching poor tired Gurgi err over and over, so I'd know what not to do. As for learning to be a princess . . ._

She glanced down at her book again, then flexed her sore foot.  _Fine_, she thought.  _I've had enough of learning what Teleria's teaching.  Time to learn everything else._

***

"I think I've figured it out," Eilonwy said when she finally returned to Celemon's side a few days later.  "King Rhuddlum lets Annan continue partly because he can't do much about it --"

Celemon nodded.  "Not with the raiders on the south shore, of course."

"And he hasn't hurt any of his captives --"

"Not a one.  Why, some of the women consider it a lark to have been kidnapped -- though I personally think that's a bit silly."

"And," Eilonwy interrupted, "because most of the money that he takes from the cantrev lords ends up with the fisherfolk."

"Very good, dear.  Very good indeed."  Celemon shook out her embroidery.  "I suspect that most of his crew are fisherfolk too, or at least have family with them.  From all reports, Annan cares much less about the money than about his legend, and so he gives away most of his spoils in hopes of good report.  It works, too; the fisherfolk quite love him."

_And Rhuddlum knows that he goes after the richest lords_, Eilonwy thought.  _So by stepping back and doing nothing, he keeps them in check too_.  "It all seems very strange," she said aloud.

"Oh my, yes."  Celemon tucked her needle into the corner of her mouth and selected a fresh skein of thread.  "They say he's of the House of Llyr, you know," she went on, a little muffled.  "Only on the wrong side of the blanket, if you take my meaning."

"_What_?" 

"Well, he did name his ship _Half-Speech's Hand_ \--"

"That is ridiculous!"  Eilonwy yanked her thread so hard it broke.  "There is no possible way he could be of the House of Llyr."

"Perhaps very far back --" Celemon ventured.

"No.  It's ridiculous.  And it's -- I can't stand it.  It's like taking a bath and then finding out someone else was there first."  She glared at her ruined, snagged embroidery.  "And he's supposed to be a hero to the fisherfolk!  That's just silly -- I mean, if he puts the sword out like that, why doesn't anyone just pick it up and challenge him?"

"Because most of them are like me, dear," Celemon said.  "And look at me.  I couldn't hold a sword if I tried.  But," she added, "I'm quite safe.  Come, sit by me.  We'll talk."

***

And talk they did, though a third of it was learning to listen, and another third learning to see.  Eilonwy treated the whole experience as if she were stepping back, hiding behind the door, listening for the words of a spell.  Bit by bit, as the winter curled around Dinas Rhydnant like a sullen cat, she started to learn what wasn't taught in her lessons. 

Yes, Rhun still made her want to throw things, but the concerns that so occupied his mind slowly became clear, as did his well-meaning attempts at solving them.  And after the damp fever swept through the palace, leaving most shaken but a few, Rhuddlum among them, coughing in their beds for weeks, he was even more distracted.  She saw how Teleria's actual duties as queen involved little of what she taught Eilonwy, consisting instead of ciphering and keeping the household in order, tasks once delegated to Magg.  She noted, too, how Rhuddlum's absence allowed Gormant son of Ricca to ostentatiously display his riches and power without fear of censure, and noted how others looked on him with favor or distaste or, more often, fear. 

In this castle, each conversation, even the fact of a conversation taking place, could have meanings beyond what the words said.  It was in fact very like listening from behind a door, she thought; like learning another language when no one will explain it to you. 

Of Celemon, too, she learned a little, turning the lessons that were not lessons back on her teacher.  That she was a widow, she knew; that her lands were kept in wardship by the king, she knew; but not that this was so because after the death of Celemon's husband and child ten years past (of the same damp fever that had stricken Rhuddlum) she had begged not to be forced to marry again and pass her lands on to a new lord.  This was what Celemon meant about being safe; as a noblewoman, she had next to no value when it came to ransom.  The only possible value she had was in her lands, and those were out of her direct reach.

What amused her more was Celemon's one apparent blind spot: Sinnoch son of Seithfed.  He remained carefully attentive of Celemon, and often made the laborious journey from his under-steward's chambers to the solar or the great hall on small errands or on some pretense, just so he could exchange a few words with her.  It seemed blatantly obvious to Eilonwy that he was in some way courting her, but either Celemon was unconcerned or -- more likely -- she hid any response behind her amiable façade.

So the winter passed, without the joys (and snowball fights) of Caer Dallben but with a new challenge of its own, one that did much to keep her from looking longingly out the window.  Teleria sniffed and said that it was a good thing that she was learning to be a little less wild, but couldn't she spend a bit more care with her clothes, and maybe finish that embroidery?

By spring she and Celemon were close enough that the two went out riding now and then.  Granted, the older woman preferred a much slower pace than Eilonwy liked (and neither of their horses was a patch on Lluagor), nor did they ever range as far as she wished, but it was something.  And Teleria made no quarrel about it, apparently believing that if Celemon were with her, Eilonwy could not get up to much mischief. 

"Mischief," however, had a number of meanings, and Eilonwy privately resurrected her plans from the fall (minus the windowsill escape) to go wandering the island by herself -- just for a little while, not long enough to be missed.  The trouble this time was arranging matters so that she didn't abandon Celemon.  As far as the court was concerned, she and Celemon were to ride out to her Celemon's old home "to see the roses by the water;" as far as Celemon knew, Eilonwy would be with her until they reached the sea and then "take perhaps a day for myself;" as far as Sinnoch knew, he was accompanying the Princess on a minor outing.  If she could just see them safely to Celemon's home, she could then take off on her own -- and even if she didn't have a sword, she had provisions for a good long adventure.

It was a good plan, up to a point.  That point, however, came far too early for her tastes, and at the end of a drawn bow.

They had not ridden more than a day (and slow enough for Celemon's doleful mare to keep up) when the first arrow struck the ground before them.  Eilonwy jerked away, turning her horse's head hard to the right, but too late: from between the trees, a dozen men in the garb of fisherfolk stepped forward, all armed.  "Ladies," said the largest among them, a tall man with a shock of gray hair pulled back into a thick cable.  "And good sir.  I must ask you to dismount."

"Must?" Eilonwy demanded, trying to calm her wretched horse.  "You must?  I don't see anyone making you ask us."

The man's smile revealed several gaps where teeth were missing, but for all that it was genial and unconcerned.  "Ah, my lady, who can see necessity?  And that and arrangement, I'm afraid, are the ones forcing me."

Eilonwy glanced back to see Sinnoch, lame on his pony, and Celemon block-still and terrified.  If they had been warriors, she'd have risked it -- but these were no warriors.  "Very well," she said.  "But you will regret this."

"I already do, my lady."

She fumed while their saddlebags -- including her bauble -- were taken and dumped on the ground, and while a very nervous brigand tied her hands with cord taken from one of Celemon's bags.  "We're not taking them back to the _Hand_?" one of his men asked. 

"Not this time," he said.  "And I don't like it any more than you, but that's what the deal is."  He approached the little square of bare ground where Sinnoch and Celemon huddled next to Eilonwy.  "You have nothing to fear," he said, drawing a long and notched sword.  "Neither I nor any of my men will cross the line of this blade."

"So you _are_ Annan Sword-Fence," Eilonwy said with a sniff.  "I wondered if you'd bother introducing yourself."

The big man put a hand over his heart in mock pain. "I need introduction?  You wound me, lady!  Though I'll admit," he added, nodding to the woods on either side, "that I am not in my element here.  And this --" he placed the blade on the ground between them, "is likely more reassuring when there are a few more boundaries, but you have my word that we'll follow the spirit of the ban."

Eilonwy twisted her hands again.  The knots were good, but they'd been tied a little too loose, and silk cord was never meant to hold for long. 

"But -- but we're not worth anything as ransom!"  Celemon started to glance at Eilonwy, but Sinnoch nudged her with his bound elbow.  "None of us are!" she added, a little too emphatically.

"That's as may be, but as this is an unusual raid by any measurement, I'm afraid that won't stop it."  He bowed.  "Still, I'd certainly appreciate your goodwill once this is over, and I ask you to speak kindly of Annan Sword-Fence once of the House of Llyr."

Eilonwy went white with rage.  "That is a lie!"

Annan rose partway from his bow, eyeing her with a frown.  "Which part?  The request, your ransom, or that this raid is unusual?"

"That you're of the House of -- oh, do stop that!" She turned to Sinnoch, who was shaking his head furiously.  "I am Eilonwy daughter of Angharad daughter of Regat of the royal house of Llyr Half-Speech, and you are no kinsman of mine!"

Annan's eyebrows shot up.  "Truly?  We cast our net wider than we'd thought, then."  He shrugged.  "I care not for the title, princess.  My father claimed it, but he was an inveterate liar.  Still, it is hard to sever an idea, once the fisherfolk have spliced it to my name."

The cords stretched a little further, and the first knot began to slide loose.  Eilonwy drew herself up and raised her chin.  "I have not come this far and done so much to claim my name just to share it with a kidnapper."  Beside her, Celemon and Sinnoch had fallen silent, staring at her with wide eyes.  "Besides, it's ridiculous to claim a lineage that isn't really yours.  That's like sticking feathers on your head and calling yourself a bird."

"Names are names, princess.  Perhaps when the ransom is arranged, you can ask that my loss of that title be part of the bargain."  He turned his back on her, retreating to the circle of his men.

"Ransom?"  She gave one last tug, and the cords slithered apart.  "I'd like to see you ask for one!"

Before he had fully turned, she'd snatched the sword from where it lay and raised it to point at Annan's heart.  His crew jumped to their feet, and the air shivered with the silken hiss of swords being drawn.  Celemon cried out.

Annan, however, stared at the point of his own sword, an expression on his face very like Coll's when confronted with something new Taran had done.  Almost a smile, never quite there, amazed and concerned both. 

"I challenge you, Annan No-Name," Eilonwy said, her voice ringing out across the clearing.  "For my freedom, and my companions', and for the right to bear that name."

"Captain," one of his crew growled, and too late she heard the creak of bowstrings.  "At your order."

"No," he said, not taking his eyes from her.  "This a fitting end to the day's work, is it not?  I'll take your challenge, princess."  He drew a knife easily as long as her forearm from its sheath.  The difference in reach between them meant that they were almost matched.

"Princess --" Sinnoch quavered. 

"We'll be fine," she said.  Celemon murmured something more that seemed to quell him, though her voice was high with fright.  Eilonwy swung the sword, and it rang off of Annan's blade with a familiar and much-missed clang. 

Unfortunately, it had been far too long since she'd held a sword, and the hilt of this one did not want to settle into her hand.  She could strike, and the riding skirts, unlike court robes, did not hamper her footwork, but each blow came a little too slow, a little too off-center.  And while there was much of Annan to aim for, every time she struck his blade found its way between them.  Though -- she noted, seeing his furrowed brow -- not without effort.

A chill shivered over her, and she realized that Annan was the better fighter, or at least had had the most recent experience.  _But he called himself of the House of Llyr.  _Furious, she struck again, this time to his right, leading him toward the pile of saddlebags and belongings.  Annan frowned but followed, twisting his knife so that it grated down the notched edge of the sword.

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved -- Sinnoch, standing unsteadily without his crutch.  The hiss and thump of an arrow followed, and Celemon shrieked.  "I said to stay out of this!" Annan roared, glancing back for just a second --

Eilonwy ducked, rolled, and seized her bauble.  The golden sphere flared in her hand, so brilliant that the ransomers cried out and cringed away.  Annan, too, shielded his eyes, only to open them when the point of his sword pricked his throat.  "Yield," Eilonwy said, bauble in one hand, sword in the other.

He stared at her, lips parted, and the knife dropped from his fingers.  "Captain?" one of his men asked. 

A brilliant, wondering, wicked smile broke over Annan's face.  "I yield," he murmured, then drew breath.  "I yield," he called so that all could hear.  "Men, scatter and back to the Hand.  I'll have no other share this honor."  He sank to one knee, then the other.  "Truly, princess, there is no better conclusion to today's deeds."  He unbuckled his now-empty swordbelt and laid it at her feet.

Though her arm was shaking -- this sword was never meant to be held one-handed, and certainly not after she'd gone so long without wielding one -- Eilonwy didn't take her eyes from him.  "Sinnoch?" she said.

"I'm all right," he said, though his voice was strained.

"There's an arrow in his foot," Celemon said, exasperated.  "Luckily it's the left one.  If you can convince him to sit, Princess, I'll see to it --"

Before she could give that order, though, the plangent call of a hunting horn echoed through the grove.  Eilonwy looked up just as the halloos of hunting hounds swarmed close, and a tumult of horses and men burst through the brush at the far side of the grove.  Lord Gormant reined in his horse, sword raised high.  "Vile absconder!" he proclaimed, looking from side to side as if to seek out the ransomers who had so handily absented themselves.  "Touch not my lady Celemon, for . . . for she . . ."  He paused, finally taking in the scene before him.

"Hullo, hullo!"  Prince Rhun cantered into the grove and slid off his horse.  His eyes widened as he saw Eilonwy, then looked from her to Annan and back.  "Well," he said slowly, "I wish I could say that I'm terribly surprised by this, but I did tell Gormant that you were quite capable of rescuing yourself.  At least given these particular circumstances.  Still, glad we showed up when we did, what?"

Eilonwy laughed.  "Thank you, Prince of Mona.  I've taken a captive, too.  Would you mind tying him up for me?"  She waited till Rhun's men had reached Annan with a coil of rope before lowering the sword and turning to Celemon and Sinnoch.  "You're all right?"

Celemon held out her hands to be untied, and as soon as she was free, began tearing strips of cloth from her skirts.  "He's hurt and he's a fool."  Sinnoch managed a grin that was more of a grimace.  "I told you the Princess was to be reckoned with; you shouldn't have tried to help!"

"It wasn't for her I was worried," Sinnoch mumbled, blushing and wincing at the same time. 

Celemon paused.  "Fool," she said again, and kissed his gray head.  "Thank you."

"I say, Eilonwy," Rhun broke in.  "Is this Annan Sword-Fence?"

She raised the notched blade.  "Well, this is his sword.  No, thank you, I'd rather not let go of it just yet," she said to the well-meaning if wide-eyed armsman who held out a hand for it.  "So yes, I suppose he is.  But he's not of the House of Llyr, and anyone who says he is, well, they're just wrong, and that's an end to it!"

"Ah.  Not quite what I was asking, but it'll do." Rhun turned to his men.  "Well, then, we'll bring him along, yes?  Though it is a bit odd," he added, "us actually finding you so soon.  I mean, no disrespect to your captive --" Annan bowed his head in silent, amused acknowledgement, "but he's usually a lot more discreet, and a lot faster.  Why, we can't have come on your horses more than ten minutes back, and that was well after we'd gotten the ransom.  I say we, but really it was Gormant who received it.  I suppose if you hadn't bested him --"

"A girl?" Gormant sneered down at Annan.  "You were bested by a girl?"

"Hold your tongue, churl!"  Annan's voice rang out through the grove, so commanding that even Rhun paused.  "I was bested by Eilonwy daughter of Angharad daughter of Regat of the royal House of Llyr, and that is an honor greater than any you bear."

Gormant turned white, and Rhun let out a low whistle.  "I --" Gormant glanced at Celemon, who had paid him no attention whatsoever, and reddened.  "Majesty, I suggest we show no mercy to this villain.  I ask for the king's justice now --"

"What, rid of me so soon, Gormant son of Ricca?  And after so much time you spent coaxing me into this plan?"  Annan's grin split wide to reveal his few remaining teeth.  "No, no, obviously our plan is all for naught, and there's no point in hiding it any longer.  All the details of our arrangement must inevitably come out.  Oh, woe for my lost reputation, for I was a fool ever to abduct a woman on orders of another."  This last was said in a dry, mocking tone, watching Gormant out of the corner of his eye.

"Orders?"  Rhun cocked his head to the side.  "Now there's something I'd like to hear a little more about."

Gormant hesitated, then cursed.  He raised his blade as if to bring it down on Annan's head, but Eilonwy stepped between them.  Gormant faltered, too aware of the eyes of the men of Dinas Rhydnant on him, and Rhun nodded to the armsmen, who circled him in much the same way as Annan's crew had circled them before.

***

The ride back was a good deal longer and more tedious than the morning's ride had been; after all, they not only had Annan walking along behind Rhun's horse, his hands manacled behind his back, but Gormant would not ride bound and in the end had to be gagged as well.  The plot, as Celemon would say, was simple enough once you saw all sides: Gormant, having "rescued" her, would have enough of a claim on her to petition the king for a wedding.  Regardless of Celemon's desires, Gormant had enough of a subtle influence to carry it off, and the resulting estate would rival even that of the King of Mona.  "Bit nasty all round," Rhun remarked after they had to stop the second time to re-tie Gormant's hands to his saddle.  "Father won't be happy about this at all.  I wonder if I can wait till one of his good moments to tell him."

"I'd think it would be good news," Eilonwy said.  "You've got a viper out of your court and a marauder off your shores."

"Yes, well, there's the problem."  He glanced back at Annan, who though he had not attempted escape walked as proudly as if he were surveying his own domain.  "The fisherfolk do love him, and he's been a useful sort of chaos to have around summer to summer.  I don't like to think how they'll react to my executing him.  Or even just having him thrown in prison."  He sighed.  "Particularly since it's likely to be my first official act as king."

Eilonwy paused.  "Your father --"

"Oh, he hasn't gotten any better.  Mother likes to look on the bright side, but we all know it.  Father most of all."  He managed a shrug and a half-smile -- which on Rhun was as broad as many other men's -- when she turned to him in shock.  "It's all right.  Truly.  No, what would be most helpful," he went on, "would be some kind of unexpected escape, daring heroics and whatnot, releasing the hero of the fisherfolk.  Something like that.  Do you know if it might be arranged?"

She was silent.  "It wouldn't put you in the best light," she ventured finally.  "You'd be left holding the empty sack."

Rhun shrugged.  "I am what I am, and my people know it.  They're not expecting a clever king, but I can show that I'll carry on my father's habits with respect to the ransomers.  I've never been very good at play-acting, but I suppose I could bluster about the escape relatively well.  Do you think?"

"Maybe," Eilonwy said absently.  "In all honesty, I don't know whether you'd want me to be the one going about it.  The last time I arranged an escape from the dungeons, the whole castle fell down.  I don't think you'd want that; it's a bit like knocking down the chicken coop to get an egg."

"Ah.  Well, I hope you can do a little less damage to the old home.  I'm a bit fond of it," he said as the towers of Dinas Rhydnant rose up before them.

***

She did not sleep that night, finally leaving the smothering feather bed for the window, which despite its insufficient plastering provided a lovely view.  A ghostly half-moon blotted out the stars to the west, but to the east they glittered cold and brilliant.  If she listened, from here she could hear the sea, or at least a regular thrum that might have been the sea.  _If I had lived in Caer Colur_, she thought, _I'd have heard the sea every waking day and every night.  I'd have understood its words and been able to speak back to it._  Briefly, she wondered if Annan could hear it in his cell, if Gormant bothered to notice it, if Rhuddlum lay listening to it. 

In Spiral Castle the dungeons had taken up so much space that they were almost a castle unto themselves, and Achren had been fond of filling them.  It had been part of who she was as a queen, the kind of queen that she had groomed Eilonwy to be with her.  Cold and imperious and with a warren of dungeons . . . and then there was Teleria, round and fussing and not even imagining the dungeons except as an expense on the castle ledgers or a reason to stay in the upper reaches of the castle. Both of them were, or had been, so concerned with what was proper for a princess to know, even if they'd had different ideas on the subject.

There had to be a middle way, didn't there?

For a long time Eilonwy listened to the far-off sea.  Then she returned to her bed, only to pull the _Laws and Directions of the Island of Mona_ from its place under the bed.

At dawn she met commanded the servants to bring her coronet and the lavish robes that she had so far refused to wear on any occasion but those mandated by Queen Teleria.  She also sent one down to the armorers' for a scabbard and, when he hesitated, regarded him coldly until he complied.  Annan's heavy blade went into the scabbard, but instead of slinging it over her shoulder, she wrapped swordbelt around the sheathed blade and carried it before her like a banner.

Rhun held court seated on a bench before his father's throne, and his eyes widened when she paced gravely into the hall.  "Majesty," she said before he could greet her, "I ask that my captive Annan Sword-Fence be brought forward."

Her hands felt hot and damp against the scabbard as she waited, but her gaze was steady and the poise that Teleria had ingrained in her from kept her spine straight.  Annan looked a little the worse for his night in the dungeon, and his gray hair had come loose into a wild mess.  "Well, here he is," said Rhun.  "I must admit, I was a little surprised that he was still there, but no matter." He frowned, scratching the back of his head and knocking his crown a little further down onto his forehead.  "What shall we do with him?"

"You will do nothing," Eilonwy said before Annan could speak.  "Save bear witness."  She took a deep breath, hoping she remembered the proper language, and descended the dais to face Annan.  "Annan called Sword-Fence, what is your father's name?"

Annan blinked at her.  "Scelti, if my mother was not lying.  Scelti son of Erim."

Eilonwy drew his sword and held it between them so that the flat of the blade reflected her own pale face back at her.  "Then, Annan son of Scelti called Sword-Fence, I have defeated you in combat and you have yielded to me.  Is this not so?"

"Princess --" Rhun began.

"It is so," Annan said.

"Then will you swear fealty to me and to the House of Llyr?"  She turned the blade between them and reversed it, point-down.

Annan's eyes widened, then crinkled at the corners.  He knelt, unsteady on the flagstones.  "I will, Princess, and gladly."

"Good."  She waited for him to take the hilt, then let go.  "There's an oath and a formal ceremony and something involving grain and salt -- it's all very symbolic, I think, but it can wait till we get the rest of this settled.  And frankly I don't see the point of going through all that again now that you've sworn; that'd be like putting more clothes on once you're already dressed."  She shook out her hands, trying to ignore how unnaturally light they felt now that they no longer held a sword, and turned back to Rhun.  "Rhun son of Rhuddlum, prince of the Island of Mona, do you acknowledge me as Princess of the House of Llyr and equal in rank to you?"

Rhun, who like many others in the hall had been staring openmouthed since she'd drawn the sword, started and straightened up.  "Er.  Yes, I suppose I do."

"Then by the laws of the Island of Mona, specifically the Declaration of Rhys Seaborn," -- and it had taken her half the night to find that particular precedent -- "I claim the right to assign a vassal of mine to your service, contingent upon our continued good relations, to follow your orders in my absence and to protect the interests of both our houses."  
At the back of the hall came the rustle of turning pages as Sinnoch frantically tried to find the Declaration of Rhys Seaborn.  Beside him, Celemon's look of shock had turned to a wide, gap-toothed grin.  Rhun started to glance to his mother for clarification, then visibly stopped himself.  "Do you mean --"

Eilonwy tried not to grin and failed.  "I mean that Captain Annan Sword-Fence, _vassal_ of the House of Llyr, is now part of your navy."  Behind her, Annan chuckled as he rose to his feet.  "Commander, I'd say, given his experience.  I suggest you use that navy to do something about the raiders on the south coast."

After that it was mostly a matter of explaining herself several times over and repeatedly citing the _Laws and Directions_ when anyone balked.  Rhun, for his part, seemed well pleased by her solution, as did Teleria (though her face had gone from white to red during Eilonwy's abbreviated ceremony of fealty).  Those who protested the most were the cantrev lords who had been among Gormant's supporters, and since he was in disgrace, they had little voice.  And by noon, it was clear that word had made it to the fisherfolk outside and that they heartily approved.

Annan remained at Eilonwy's side, shaking his head and smiling.  "I hope this won't be a problem for you," she said quietly at one of the points where Gormant's supporters were being shouted down.

"Princess, I can think of no better ending.  I can return to the sea, and I retain the honor of my defeat at your hands."  He grinned again, wickedly.  "My legend will have no end, after this.  As for the Prince of Mona, I suspect I can interpret his orders as I see fit."  He glanced at her.  "Unless you'd like a navy of your own?"

Eilonwy blew a strand of hair out of her face.  "Not unless you can sail up Great Avren to Caer Dallben, and even then I don't know what I'd do with you.  It'd be like keeping a salmon in an orchard.  Here is just fine."  She paused as Teleria approached.  "Will you excuse me a moment?"

Annan bowed and retreated, and Eilonwy took Teleria's arm as they left the great hall.  The yellow-haired queen, so drawn and tired in recent weeks, now had two spots of color high on her cheeks.  "Well," she said as they left the hall, "I hadn't quite expected you -- don't _shuffle_ so, dear, you'll scuff your shoes -- to put my lessons to use this way."

"I'd thought I was proving myself a princess," Eilonwy said with some asperity.

Teleria paused and turned to look at her, still holding on to her arm.  "No, dear.  Swearing in new vassals?  Upsetting the balance of a court?  That's what a _king_ does, dear."  She gazed at Eilonwy with a fond if regretful look.  "Although come to think of it, finding ways around the laws that make more sense than the laws themselves -- that is very much the work of a queen."

Eilonwy smiled at her, and she raised a hand to pat the princess' cheek.  "Oh, my dear, I had hoped one day to call you daughter, but I suppose this will do instead.  Now get you back to the hall; I must go and tell my husband that we have acquired a navy."  She let go of Eilonwy, then paused at the door.  "Although this will not excuse you from your embroidery, you understand.  Find something you _want_ to sew, at least!"

Eilonwy just managed to hide her grimace by sweeping a curtsy instead.  For a moment she remembered the little girl in Spiral Castle, facing the dark hallways and the endless passages.  She turned back to the hall, brilliant with light and arguments and intrigue. 

Time to learn her way through these as well.


End file.
